


untitled

by twelvearms



Category: X-23 (Comic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvearms/pseuds/twelvearms





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Traincat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/gifts).



On the ides of December, they were sitting in a diner on the outskirts of the city, both huddling in their jackets against the residual cold of the outdoors (though Laura was not as bothered by it as Gambit looked, hunched over the table in his battered trenchcoat). "Listen," he was saying, "I know you don't--" Laura heard the buzz of his phone. He reached into his pocket and glanced at the screen before answering. "Need something?"

"Hey," Logan's voice came over the phone, small and distorted; "Laura there?"

"Yeah. Why, you wanna talk to her?"

"Nope. Got a job for you two."

A subtle hesitation from Gambit, one Laura recognized. He hadn't wanted to hear that. "What kinda job?"

"I was thinkin' about getting a tree. For the school."

He relaxed. It was a small change; he rarely appeared to be tense, but Laura had learned to detect even these minor things. "A Christmas tree?"

"A goddamn ficus. What do you think?"

"Watch how you talk to me, man, I ain't said I'll get it for you." He was grinning, in spite of his words. "You got a truck we could borrow?"

 

There was no truck to borrow, but there _was_ Logan's minor collection of classic cars. Two hours later, they were driving out to the hills in a rust-colored 1967 Camaro that didn't have working heat (yet, Logan assured them). Gambit turned it on anyway, just in case, and flipped through radio stations with his free hand while he drove. They pulled onto a dirt road at the first sign that said _TREES,_ hand-painted and crooked. The farm itself was neat row after neat row of small pines, an artificial forest. Gambit paused to talk with the man in the driveway. Laura walked on ahead, into the rows.

"Find one?" Gambit called, as he caught up.

Laura shrugged. "I don't know what I am looking for."

"Just pick one you like." They walked in silence for a moment. "What you gonna do for Christmas?"

Laura had no answer for that. "What will you do?"

"Depends."

She looked at the ground as they walked, silent again, but she knew that he was waiting for something else. She picked a tree instead, which was both an easy decision and a random choice. It seemed to make him happy.

 

It was late by the time they got back to the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning. They left empty styrofoam cups once filled with hot cocoa in Logan's car ("Ah, he don't care," Gambit had said, though Laura thought he might) and brought the tree in through the front door.

Gambit cursed. "We gotta get something to stand it up in." He hefted his end of the tree (the trunk; Laura had the lighter and less awkward top, at his insistence) and pulled his phone out of his pocket with some difficulty, dialing one-handed. "Hey, where could I get a stand for this damn thing?"

Logan's voice, again distorted. Even so, Laura recognized the inflections and tones: he was in a good mood. "Might have an idea, if you bring a beer up to the balcony."

"Ain't you gonna say please?"

"Don't have to. I'm the headmaster." Gambit hung up (somewhat prematurely, Laura thought).

"I'm gonna look for this thing, petite. Do me a favor and go find Logan, eh? You tell him to get his headmaster ass on down here and help me."

 

Logan was on the roof, above the balcony. He didn't look down at her when she started to climb up. "Hey, kid."

"What are you doing?"

A subtly dismissive motion. "Just thinkin'. You have fun?"

"We cut down a tree," she replied, sitting down next to him. There wasn't much else to say about that. "Gambit told me to tell you that you should help him."

A wry grin. "Is that how he said it?"

"No."

"Didn't think so." He paused. "Think you're gonna stay here for a while?"

"I do not think so."

"How about for Christmas?"

"I do not know."

"Good enough."

They were silent for a moment, comfortably so, and then Laura caught Gambit's cologne on the wind before she heard him: "Hey asshole!" A projectile beer can flew into Logan's waiting hand. "Now come down here."

 

It took them nearly half an hour to set up the tree, and somehow, afterwards, they ended up in a room with a low ceiling and an aged but well-made pool table that Logan had bought. (Christmas present to me, he said, but Laura knew that everyone would use it, and that was who it was really for.)

"Not too bad," Gambit was saying. They both held beers, now.

"That's what I said." Rogue appeared at the door, and her expression shifted as soon as she saw Laura, unmasked surprise. "Well hey there, stranger! Haven't seen you in while."

"She's here to balance out the teams," said Gambit.

Laura glanced at him. "What teams?"

"Eight-ball teams." Gambit was setting up the table. "Me and Laura against you and Logan, if you don't mind losin'," he said, flashing Rogue a grin.

"Don't think I'm gonna go easy on you 'cause X is on your team," said Logan.

"Who said I'd want you to? I got five hundred on me and Laura."

"Then you're bettin' to lose, 'cause I ain't puttin' down the school's money."

"So you scared, is what you mean."

"I'll see your five hundred," Rogue spoke up.

Gambit grinned. "Fightin' words, chère. I'll break 'em."

At some point, Rogue got a beer (and two more; none for Laura, though Rogue _had_ glanced questioningly at Logan, as if to say, _should I?_ During that silent exchange, Gambit had simply said, "you want one, petite?" She had shaken her head no, and the game had continued). Laura was not good at pool; Logan and Gambit were, and Rogue was much better than she was. When Logan and Rogue were one point ahead, and it was Logan's shot--an easy shot, which Laura had inadvertently lined up for him, she now understood--Gambit flashed her a _don't worry about it_ grin and unbuttoned his shirt halfway, leaning slowly over the pocket Logan was aiming for. "Get the fuck out of here," Logan said, but it was good-natured. Gambit laughed and slid off the table. When next it was his turn, Rogue returned him the favor, prompting Logan to remark, "better miss, if you know what's good for you," and Gambit did, a near-hit so close he could have actually done it by accident.

Later he had the eight ball, the possible winning shot. He handed his cue to Laura, aiming it for her. "Hands like this," he said, fixing her fingers. "You gonna need power for this shot. That's your power shot. See how you gotta bounce it?" He pointed. "Right there. So you gotta hit it dead on. You hit on the side, you gonna spin it. Okay?"

"Okay," said Laura.

The cue slid smoothly over her hand; the eight ball bounced, and spun, and twirled a torturous long path to the corner pocket--and fell in.

Rogue was the first one to clap, and when Laura pointed out that she had lost, she said only "sure did," and that was the end of that.

 

Gambit volunteered to take the bottles back to the kitchen. Laura made to follow, but Logan laid a hand on her arm. "We got a lot of room, if you want to stay."

She nodded once and moved past him.

"So?" said Gambit, as soon as she entered the kitchen.

She leaned on a counter. "What?"

"I ain't gonna make you stay. You do what you want." He turned to her, smiling a little. "So what you think?" A pause. "Maybe just for Christmas?"

Maybe, thought Laura. Maybe just for Christmas.


End file.
